Harbinger
by Eileen S. Whipple
Summary: "When it comes for you, you'll know it *is* your time."


Title: Harbinger  
  
Author: Eileen S. Whipple  
  
Email: whipples@connect.ab.ca  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Classification: VA, character death, hint at MSR  
  
Summary: "When it comes for you, you'll know it *is* your time."  
  
Spoilers: None  
  
Archive: Sure, just tell me where so I can visit!   
  
Feedback: If you find it in your heart to send me even  
something saying "I liked your story", please do so!  
Even those short emails keep me going!  
  
DISCLAIMER: CC owns all. Need I say more?  
  
Notes: This story came to me after listening to Blue Oyster   
Cult's "Don't Fear the Reaper". I could barely hear the words to   
the song but just the title inspired this.  
  
  
  
*********  
Harbinger  
*********  
  
  
The voices were whispers in the distance; their rhythm was like   
a song, the last human music she'd hear. The mechanical wail of   
sirens had died down but would start up again as the fallen   
agent was taken to the hospital.  
  
Paramedics had stopped the bleeding but her pierced lung was   
making breathing difficult. That was not the only pain she   
felt. The same gunman who'd shot her had killed her partner.  
  
She couldn't help him, and he had died several feet away from   
her, his dying words audible through all the aching, "I love   
you, Scully, and you have to live."  
  
I think that's too much to do, Mulder.  
  
  
  
  
Her eyes were open a crack but her ears were wide open to her   
surroundings. She heard her mother Margaret sobbing and   
pretending she wasn't. Assistant Director Walter Skinner was   
speaking quietly with her doctor.  
  
Her throat was burning and dry but she couldn't speak to ask   
for water. The machines were helping her breathe now and she   
was sore from the surgery to repair her lung.  
  
"Mr. Skinner," her mother said, "when is Mulder's funeral?"  
  
"In three days. His mother wanted Dana to be there and if   
she's fully awake and showing progress soon, there is a   
slight chance the doctor will let her attend."  
  
"I don't think that would be a good idea."  
  
Scully used a great deal of strength to lift her hand. She   
pointed to the water jug.  
  
"Dr. Lang, can she have some water?"  
  
"Give her a small glass, Mrs. Scully." The doctor waited to   
see how her patient took to ingesting liquids.  
  
The cool water flowed over Scully's parched lips and her hand   
shot up to get more water into her mouth.  
  
"Can you speak?" Dr. Lang asked. Scully coughed at the wetness   
in her throat. Her lung felt better except for the coughing.  
  
"I have to go to Mulder's funeral," she rasped. "I have to   
say goodbye." Her pale cheeks began to flush pink.  
  
Her mother warned, "Dana, don't get worked up. He knows how   
you feel so you don't really need to go. Your health is   
important, and it is crucial you don't set yourself up for   
infection."  
  
Scully's forehead creased. "He didn't know how I feel. He   
told me he loved me. Those were his dying words. 'I love   
you, Scully, and you have to live'. I didn't even see it   
coming. I have to tell him how I feel."  
  
"Mrs. Scully, I'll leave you and Dana alone." Skinner left   
the room, followed closely by Dr. Lang.  
  
"Mom, I feel awful. He told me he loved me after I got him   
shot."  
  
"How did you get him shot?" Margaret asked.  
  
"I didn't cover him when the gunman fired. I'm supposed to   
protect my partner if I have to."  
  
"Dana, you can't blame yourself for that. You'd been shot first   
and your reaction had been impaired."  
  
"But he'd tried to protect me and I couldn't even do that much."   
She yawned in the midst of her feelings of guilt and temporary   
self-hatred.  
  
Margaret fixed her daughter's blanket. "Dana, you need to rest.   
It's only been a few days since your surgery."  
  
Scully wasn't going to argue; she was too tired to put up a   
verbal fight. She nestled her head into her pillow and fell asleep.  
  
  
  
  
A tickling feeling danced across her bare throat and she opened   
one eye. In the darkness she could see a man. Scully looked   
at him with eyes wide open.  
  
"Scully," he said.  
  
She couldn't move. "Mulder?" Her voice shook.  
  
"Don't be afraid of me. Please don't be." He was dressed in the   
grey suit he'd be wearing the last time she'd seen him.  
  
"I must be hallucinating," she said. "It's the medication."  
  
He moved to her side and sat on her bed. Weight pressed down   
on the mattress. "Scully, no matter what you believe I am,   
you're going to listen to me." His voice was soft yet forceful.  
  
She was too frightened to move. He didn't seem dead or ghost-like.   
He had mass, she couldn't see through him, and he looked like   
Mulder before he'd gotten shot. And she couldn't believe in   
ghosts; it wasn't her.  
  
"I tried to protect you and I did most of my job. I just don't   
want you to feel guilty about not being able to help me."  
  
"But you died. I failed you."  
  
"Scully, you didn't fail me. You were hurt badly so I understand   
why you couldn't help me."  
  
She brought her blankets up to her chest, the material bunched   
up in her fists. "What was death like?"  
  
He reached out and touched her cheek. "It was painful at first   
but then, it was like I could never feel any pain again. It   
seems morbid to say but for me, death was the answer to my quest."  
  
Scully's blue eyes began to moisten out of fright and joy.   
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I've seen Samantha. She's part of the spirit world."  
  
"She's dead?" She knew how important it had been for Mulder   
to find his missing younger sister.  
  
"She told me she'd been adopted but died of natural causes   
at age eleven. She's not sure who took her that night, but   
whoever it was didn't hurt her."  
  
She noticed that his eyes were darker and more alive than   
she'd ever seen them before. He seemed to be content in death.  
  
"Scully, I don't want to upset you but when we were shot, we   
were both supposed to die."  
  
"I w-was?" she stuttered. "But I lived."  
  
"That's why you're in such poor health right now." Mulder   
caressed her right hand. "You're going to get worse but don't   
fear death. When it comes for you, you'll know it *is* your time."  
  
The muscles in her body tightened. Mulder never lied to her   
unless it was in her best interest. The intensity of his   
hazel eyes and his touch told her he was serious.  
  
"Be prepared, Scully. Death will be coming soon so make   
sure you say your goodbyes soon."  
  
She blinked and in that split second, he was gone. She began   
feeling ill when she realized her friend was the harbinger   
of death.  
  
  
  
  
The voices were quiet, and the interval between blips on the   
heart monitor was long. Her heart was worn out and was slowing   
down. Dr. Lang had told Margaret that her daughter's downturn   
was mysterious; there was no reason why her health would be   
declining. She wasn't in any physical pain; she ached because   
she didn't want to leave her mother.  
  
Scully knew that Mulder's words were true. She was supposed   
to die and there was nothing that could be done about it.   
Perhaps she'd see her father, her sister, and her daughter   
when she finally left. She hadn't said her goodbyes yet but   
she would as soon as she could open her eyes.  
  
She never thought the darkness could be so comforting.  
  
**END**  
  
  
Comments? whipples@connect.ab.ca  
  
  



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